The Fulfillment of the Law

 

                             “…love is the fulfillment of the Law.”
                             --Romans 13: 8 -10

Why is the world so angry these days? Why is America so angry? Why are Christians so angry? And why are we all so reflexively defensive? It seems to me that part of the problem is we have forgotten how to love, and forgotten what love looks like, how love acts, and what love costs. A man gets shot and instead of coming together in sorrow and compassion as a nation we start pointing fingers, Democrats desperate to blame Republicans and Conservatives righteously blaming Liberals! Each side bitterly blaming the other. A husband and wife are brutally murdered (possibly by their own son) and our president posts cruel self-righteous messages about how the victim brought it on himself. After a school shooting, instead of coming together in solidarity to protect our children each side reaches for a camera to start broadcasting vitriole and reasons why the other side is responsible for another unimaginable nighmare, another empty seat around some poor family's table. Why is it that we aren't coming together? Why are we treating each other this way? What has happened to us as a nation? As a society? As a people? It's like we are just looking for enemies? Why aren't we treating each other with love?
Perhaps we just need someone to remind us what that is... and what it looks like.

Here at Christmas time we often get quite caught up in the whole sentimental baby in the manger with lovely clean sheep hovering about, breathing their sweet warm grassy breath over the rosy cheeked, pink and freshly swaddled infant. This image of Christmas with its gentleness and radiant beauty can distract us from the truth—Love is hard. It requires sacrifice. It demands patience. And it can be exhausting…and risky. When we are expecting something tender and sentimental, we may be utterly shocked by the truth-- the wood of that manger inevitably leads to the wood of the cross. It’s unavoidable. Love makes us vulnerable, and that is very uncomfortable. Something we (by instinct) avoid at any cost. And yet, here at Christmas that is exactly the image of Christ we are presented with. A newborn child, helpless; the God who is Love lying in a manger, dependent for food and warmth upon His own creation, the comfort of His mother's breast and the warmth of her flesh holding Him close. The rough fingers of his carpenter "father" gently lifting him to change a diaper or at least the straw that makes up His bed.

Love makes us vulnerable, and that is always uncomfortable. And Love maes demands upon us, demands we too often might rather avoid.

But, as Paul reminds us in his letter to the Romans, “love is the fulfillment of the Law.” The Law is capitalized here because it refers not just to human laws but to the Law of God (as found in the Torah). Think about that; Paul is telling us that all those rules found in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy—all those hard and fast regulations—boil down to one thing: Love.

Paul gives us three wonderful lessons at the end of Romans that—if we take them seriously—will utterly change the way we treat each other. Especially anyone we might be tempted to call our enemy. First:

                             “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, thus sayeth the Lord.” (12:19)

This tells us that getting revenge (or getting even) is not our business; that belongs to God.

Second:

                            “If your enemy is hungry, give him something to eat;
                             if thirsty, give him something to drink.
                            By doing this, you will heap red-hot coals on his head.” (12:20)

Hence, if we begin to think of someone as our enemy, we now know how God wants us to treat them: with generosity and compassion. This is what Love looks like... The answer isn't revenge, the answer isn't cruelty or meanness, but generosity and compassion. Of course, we might think this is just the old "Kill them with kindness" ploy, but is there something more to it? Is the strangeness of this lesson not just about how we treat our "enemies" but how we transform them (and ourselves)... By heaping red-hot coals of generosity and kindness upon them, we might change their hearts... But, more importantly we might change our own. It is hard to hate someone you are caring for, harder even to see them as an enemy when you see their hunger and thirst and their need for help, for compassion, for Love. It seems that the Law of God is asking us not to harden our hearts against our enemy but to become even more like Christ as we approach them. To see them not with the eyes of politics or nationality but with the eyes of Jesus.

Which leads me back to this:

                             “…love [truly] is the fulfillment of the Law…” (cf.13:8-10)

Why do Christians so quickly forget these essentials? Especially in a time of conflict? Whether it is personal or social or even international, what is it about these simple lessons that eludes us? Why does their obvious meaning fade so quickly when our eyes are clouded by anger and resentment?

Let us ponder this as we approach the celebration of the birth of God’s Love made flesh. This whole turn the other cheek, feed the hungry, care for the sick, visit the prisoners, clothe the naked, care for the vulnerable and the outcast thing isn’t just some liberal agenda run amuck. It is the fulfillment of the Law of God. And it is our call as Christians, as the Body of Christ we are called to live it, to embody it, to love our enemy and bless those who curse us, to give ourselves away, and by so doing to give our flesh to the Love of God. To let God’s love shine through our words and actions we must abe willing to allo the wood of the cradle to reveal the wood of the Cross. This way of life, this way of Love –it is the salt we are called to be for the earth; it is the Light our faith must shine in a world frightened and lost in the darkness of hate.

It is the Law and the Law is Love. What kind of blessing will you become this Christmas? And who will you bless? If you are still looking for a way to shake up your holiday season, let that become your Advent prayer.

The Law & the Woman & the Capitol protest: some thoughts on John 8: 3-5

 “The scribes and Pharisees brought a woman along
who had been caught committing adultery; and making
her stand there in the middle they said to Jesus: Master,
this woman was caught in the very act of committing
adultery, and in the Law, Moses has ordered us
to stone women of this kind.
What have you got to say?”

--John 8:3-5

What a fearful statement.  The scribes and Pharisees make such a fearful claim when they say, Moses ordered us to stone women “of this kind.”  The implication is that the Law, from God, commands us to kill her. What other choice do we have? It’s God’s law! 

But then, as if to trick Jesus, they ask: What do you think?

There are a few things here I would like to think about.  First, that word “ordered.”  Did God actually “order” His people to kill anyone guilty of adultery? In Leviticus (20:10) and Deuteronomy (22: 23-34) the punishment for adultery is prescribed as death (for both man and woman). And the idea behind it is that it is a grave sin and must be driven out of the community.  So, in a sense the scribes and Pharisees are right.  And yet, how does Jesus respond?

His answer isn’t: No. You’re wrong. You misinterpreted the Law. Or even to blame them for spying on the woman. What were they doing, that they were able to catch her “in the very act?”

No. He responds with silence.  He kneels down and begins “writing on the ground with His finger.” (8:6) Why?  Why doesn’t He correct them? Why doesn’t He chastise them?  In Matthew’s Gospel, when the same guys come with another question about God commanding a writ of divorce, Jesus seems almost to shake His head and sigh, “It was because of the hardness of your hearts that Moses allowed you to divorce…” (cf. Mt 19:7-9).  Why doesn’t He say something like that here, too?  I wonder. 

They are saying something provocative and dangerous. And it is very clear that they have come to Him not seeking answers but an excuse for something they already have in their hearts. They are truly hungry for blood. This crowd has been riled up and is ready to erupt.

On some level, they remind me of those people in Washington DC who stormed the capitol. People who were clearly riled up and ready to explode.  They were not in Washington to seek answers or debate issues. From all appearances, they were there to cast stones.

I have been wondering about that event for a few days now. The horror of it, the anger that overwhelmed many of the protesters --turning them into a violent mob. Five people died. But I have also been thinking about some of the faces I keep seeing on the news. On many of them I see anger and rage and frustration, but on others I see smiles and something like glee. In some of these pictures and videos, I see what looks more like a bunch of middle-aged high-schoolers out for a last fling—a lark! A kind of Spring Break from Covid and isolation and the exhausting lives they find themselves trapped in. 

I do not mean to denigrate their anger, or deny that they may sincerely feel aggrieved; may even sincerely feel like their election was stolen. But… how do we stop this craziness? How do we stop this divisiveness? How do we stop our country, our society, our culture from self-destruction, from becoming nothing but a raging series of reactionary riots?

One way might be to look to Jesus for an example.  The crowd comes to Him, ready for a fight, hungering for justification and confrontation.  And instead of correcting them, or engaging in their anger, He listens and even takes notes.  And by doing so—what happens? The tension is released. The crowd is dispersed—in fact, it disperses itself. The frenzy that caught up the crowd has been calmed, because someone helped them slow down and think—slow down and remember who they were. Not riotous murderers, but people, families, fathers and brothers and sons, mothers and daughters and… people. Just ordinary people who have struggled with their own sins and failings, their own weaknesses and longings.

Jesus doesn’t argue with them or their understanding of the Law.  He simply listens to them, to their concerns, and then asks them to remember who they are.

What a beautiful lesson we get every time we open the scripture. If only we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

 

Lord, open my eyes that I may read Your word more clearly

Lord, open my ears that I may hear Your word more fully

and open my heart, that I may be filled

with the Love that is always found there.

 

 

    

The law and the widow’s mite

11 Nov 2018

 “The people were all in tears

as they listened to the words of the law...”

--Nehemiah 8:9b

“As [Elijah] arrived at the entrance of the city

a widow was gathering sticks; he called

out to her: Please bring me a small

cupful of water...” –1 Kings 17: 10-16

“I tell you the truth, this poor widow

has put more into the offering box than all the

others. For they all gave out of their wealth.

But she, out of her poverty,

put in all that she had...”

--Mark 12:43-44

In my last post, I was contemplating the people and their tears (from Nehemiah). And this week, as I waited to go to confession, I was still thinking about that passage, about those people and their tears. But, standing in the line for confession, I found myself watching the Quinceanera families stage their pictures in the church and over by the baptismal font instead of contemplating my sins.  So, I took out my Magnificat and tried to focus my thoughts on something other than the astonishing dresses and tuxedos and the abundance of bolo ties.  Opening it, I turned to the Gospel for this Sunday and read  the story of the widow’s mite.  I have always liked this story; it has the wonderful Cinderella appeal of an unknown impoverished woman suddenly coming to prominence; her tiny --almost meaningless-- offering singled out for praise.  See! See her; the one with the two pennies.  She is giving more than all the rest.  I think it appeals to the inner child in me who still remembers a time when all I had were two pennies and thought it was a lot (I loved gumball machines).  And it still speaks to me today when I worry that I have so little give. And I don’t mean just money.  When I look around and see the other teachers at my school doing so many extra duties –coaching, heading up clubs, going on field trips, I feel a pang of guilt, of inadequacy, a sense of my own insufficiency, not measuring up. 

And then I realized—that is often how I feel when I think of “the Law.” I think about those regulations and restrictions and punishments and feel a sense of dread and insufficiency.  I am unable to meet that mark, to measure up to those expectations.  I am a disappointment, to myself and to God (and possibly to my principal too, though she hasn’t come out and said it).  When I look at the Law as a set of benchmarks that I need to meet to be considered “good,” then I find myself wallowing in self-doubt and dread and fear. I dwell in the certainty of my own failure; anxious about my next slip up –my next misstep or moment of weakness; gossiping over coffee about a co-worker, whining about a student on the way home in the car, hiding in the garage and eating all the doughnuts –so my family won’t know... You know, just the ordinary stuff.

But in this story of the widow and her mite, we get a different view; to some extent, we get a God’s eye view of living the Law.  In the story from Mark, Jesus is watching the people put their offerings into the treasury –something that is commanded by the Law. As the crowd puts money in, Mark notes that some rich people put in large amounts, but then comes this poor widow with her two small (almost worthless) coins. And it is her that Jesus singles out as having put in “more than all the others.” 

The rich people putting in their large sums are fulfilling the letter of the law –even quite possibly giving more than is required.  Metaphorically they are the expectations we measure ourselves against; they are the human measure of success.   Those large donations of theirs will pay for a new science building or a new sports stadium. They are the kinds of donations remembered with names engraved in stone or up in lights...

And yet, Jesus reveals something about how God sees the Law when He singles out the widow and the gift of her two pennies as worth more because out of her poverty she contributed all she had. 

From the human point of view it is very easy to look at the Law as a game of numbers; boxes we check off for and against.  Done this, done this, done this, not that... Good Lord, I’ve never even imagined doing that! Oh my! Don that so many times I’ve lost count...  Tithed -check! DSF—check! Raffle tickets –check! It’s all numbers—sums (both large and small).  

But from God’s point of view it’s not about the numbers –not about how many or how few laws we break, or keep; not about how well we measure up to some cosmic or karmic or spiritual regulation –it’s not about perfect attendance at mass or how much we put in the weekly envelope.  Perhaps the Law of God really only asks one thing—everything! That’s all.  And perhaps the value of our gift is measured not by how much we put in, but how much we hold back. 

From the outside, from the human side, the Law of God can look ominous and daunting. There are 613 laws in the Old Testament cannon; 365 prohibitions (thou shalt nots) and 248 positive commandments.  And yes, one might weep at the thought of so many laws, and so many opportunities to fail, and some of the people in that story from Nehemiah may have wept out of fear or dread... but I wonder if –in that crowd there in Jerusalem, listening to the Law—there wasn’t at least one poor widow standing off by herself listening to the words of the Law, her face warm with tears not of anguish, but of joy, because she understood exactly what the Law meant. It meant that God loved her. For her the Law was simple –in fact, it was everything.